“I thought it best to come to you first, madame,” the earl broke in, “and solicit your advice in this matter. I will see that Luca is sent home to Florence immediately if the king will forgive him his stupidity.”
“Nay,” Lady Margaret said, surprising them both. “He must continue to involve himself with this plot, but you will keep me informed at all times of what these traitors are doing,” she said, piercing the young man with a hard look. “I will, with your help, Luca Pietro d’Angelo, put an end to this sort of treason once and for all. Henry cannot be constantly besieged within his own realm. The Earl of Kildare in Ireland has welcomed a pretender to England’s throne who cries to all who will listen that he is Clarence’s son.” She sniffed derisively. “And it is said there are no snakes in Ireland.”
“But Clarence’s son, the Earl of Warwick, is in the Tower,” Robert Minton said incredulously. “I thought all knew that.”
“Well,” Lady Margaret said dryly, “whether the Irish do or not, they will be crowning this fellow in Dublin, we have been informed. Sooner or later this summer, there will be an invasion. We do not need the true Edward, Earl of Warwick, escaping the Tower and racing about the countryside, causing havoc at the same time as well.” She turned and looked at the earl. “I think it best we keep this from my son for now, Robert. I see no need for him to worry further. Master Pietro d’Angelo will continue to attempt to learn the perpetrator of this latest plot so we may end it before it gets out of control.”
“Is this wise, madame?” He had never questioned a decision of hers before.
“Probably not, Rob, but if Luca simply disappears, his fellow conspirators will grow nervous, and heaven knows what they will do.
“We need to know where this comes from. At least with this pretender in Ireland, we know who he really is, and who is behind him. He will prove troublesome, it is true, but we will prevail.”
“Who is he?” the earl asked, curious. Until she had spoken of it, he hadn’t heard of a pretender, but then he had been in the country on his estates, trying to enjoy his new wife’s company.
“His name is Lambert Simnel. He was born in Oxford. His sire is a shoemaker or a baker or some such. You know Oxford is the home of lost causes, and a traitorous priest named Symonds conceived this particular plot. The boy, Simnel, is well favored, and even has the look of York about him. He was sent to Ireland shortly before we arrested the priest, but of course Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, and sister of the late kings Edward and Richard, as well as to Duke Clarence, supports this pretension. She is such a bitter woman. She will send troops to help this pretender, for she hates my son for defeating her brother,” the king’s mother explained. “Still, that must not concern you. I am interested in learning who is behind this plot that your brother-in-law is involved in, Rob.”
“Madame,” Luca said, “I swear on the blessed Mother, on Santa Anna, my family’s patron, that I meant no harm. I did not solicit these men. I thought only to help the king by exposing their plot.”
“You should have exposed it immediately,” the earl snapped.
“Nay, he was clever to realize that those coming to him were not capable of crafting such a plot, and to attempt to learn who was behind them,” Lady Margaret said, half excusing the young man. “Press them for a name, Luca, and continue on so I may root out the chief traitor. You will then go home a hero, and I will commend your bravery and your cleverness to the Medici.” She now favored him with a small, wintery smile.
“Lucianna believes that someone was attempting to forge a breach between myself and the king in order to gain favor for themselves,” Robert Minton said.
“That too is possible,” Lady Margaret agreed. “Using your foreign wife’s family to discredit you would be of benefit to an ambitious man. It would also keep the king from forging trading ties with Florence, as he has been hoping to do. But we can only speculate until we find the perpetrators of this nefarious plot.”
The earl nodded in agreement. “Shall Lucianna and I return to Wye Court?” he asked Lady Margaret.
“Remain for the interim. Your fields are planted and will not be harvested for some weeks. I understand your longing for home, Rob, but stay until this matter is settled,” Lady Margaret said.
He bowed. “As you wish, madame. Shall I recall your ladies now?” the earl inquired of her.
“Yes,” she answered him, and he did so.
The queen mother’s women streamed back into her privy chamber, chattering, the older women curious at their mistress’s need for privacy, the younger ones more interested in flirting with Luca who, now relieved of his burden, was more than happy to oblige them. After a few moments, the earl said they would take their leave. When they had departed, one of the older women asked Lady Margaret what her favorite earl and the young silk merchant had wanted.
Lady Margaret shrugged. “The young Florentine will soon be required to return home by his father. He came to tell me himself, and thank us for our custom. I thought that exceedingly polite, but then these Florentines do have exquisite manners.”
“Surely the earl’s wife will not again step into the shop?” Cat Talcott said. “It would be unthinkable.”
Lady Margaret’s ladies all nodded in agreement, some frowning with disapproval.
“Nay, of course, Lady Minton will not become a shopkeeper once again,” Lady Margaret said. “They have trained an assistant who will carry on for the Florentine silk merchants. I am right glad of it, for the Milanese have given up and prepared to leave London.”
“Their silks were not as fine, I am told,” one lady said. “How clever of the Florentine woman to train an Englishman to the task.”
“Yes,” Lady Margaret agreed. “Robert gained a most clever wife when he wed Lucianna Pietro d’Angelo.”
Cat Talcott turned away.
“Do not look so sour, Cat,” one of her friends remarked. “You will get wrinkles before your time,” and the other girls giggled.
“He should have been mine,” Cat Talcott said softly.
“Our lady will find you another husband, Cat,” her friend reassured her.
“I don’t want another!” the girl said.
“We cannot always have what we want,” her friend replied.
Chapter 14
Lucianna was waiting anxiously for her husband and brother to return from their visit to the king. Luca, however, went to the shop while the earl returned to his wife’s London house. Dunn and Gerd had hurried out to take the two horses into the stables. The earl found his wife waiting in the little hall of the house.
“What happened? Where is my brother? Oh God! He’s been arrested!” she half sobbed.
“Nay, nay,” he quickly reassured her, going to the sideboard to pour himself a goblet of wine. “We did not go to the king. We went to Lady Margaret first,” he told Lucianna. Then he quietly explained what had happened, concluding, “As it is believed he is not quite ready to go, I thought it better he return to the shop. We wish it to appear as just another day as far as Luca is concerned.”
Lucianna nodded as she processed everything he had just told her. “Is Luca in any danger?” she asked him finally.
“He could be if they realize what he is about, but as that is quite unlikely, I would say probably not. I do not believe anyone important would have involved a foreigner in their treasonous enterprise. I do not believe he is being watched, but a bit of caution does not go awry.”
“I cannot leave London until I am certain my brother is free to return home. While my first loyalty is now to you, to your king, I still have a loyalty to the family of my birth,” she told him seriously. “I need to know with certainty that this is over and done with, that my brother is safely on his way home without any stain of disloyalty tarnishing him, my lord. His actions were foolish, but Luca is a man of honor.”
“I would not disagree with you,”
he said, then told her, “Lady Margaret has requested we remain until this matter is concluded.”
“The king’s mother well understands family alligiance,” Lucianna said, “and who she may and may not trust.”
“She pointed out the lady she had in mind to wed me to,” the earl told her, taking her mind from her brother immediately.
“Is she pretty?” Lucianna asked. She felt a jealous spark ignite.
“I didn’t really notice,” he foolishly replied.
“Liar!” she accused. “No man is told that he might have wed this maid and does not look at her. She was pretty then. How pretty?” What was the matter with her that she was suddenly so possessive?
“In the usual way,” he admitted. “Hair the color of a chestnut. A bit of a turned-up nose, and a too-thin mouth. Not like my wife’s lush lips,” he said, reaching for her.
Lucianna evaded his grasp. “Her eyes?” she demanded. “What color were her usual eyes, my lord?”
“I actually did not get close enough to see their color,” he told her truthfully. “Fair-skinned, so I would imagine she is light-eyed.” He kept his expression serious, but he was frankly enjoying her jealousy. So far his wife’s passion was confined to the physical. She did not use words to express her emotions as a rule. Her open jealousy conveyed a great deal more to him than she had ever before revealed.
“If you set us side by side,” Lucianna continued to press him, “would you still choose me?”
“God, yes!” he exclaimed without hesitation. “I far prefer the wife I have with her golden red hair and blue-green eyes.”
“You are a wise man,” Lucianna murmured, smiling, well pleased. Moving closer to him, she slipped her arms about his neck. “You may kiss me now,” she told him, grandly pursing her lips at him.
Robert Minton resisted the urge to laugh, or to tease her. He instead accepted her invitation, wrapping his arms about her, giving her a long, deep kiss. Then he chuckled, saying, “I am pleased to see you are capable of jealousy, amore mia.”
“Of course I can be jealous,” she told him. “Florentine women with Venetian mothers can be very jealous in the right circumstances. However, my lord, I was merely curious this time.”
He took her hand in his. “I have loved you almost from the first moment I saw you, Lucianna,” he told her. “I shall never stop loving you, my beautiful wife.” He now raised the small hand in his hand to his lips and, turning it over, kissed the delicate skin of her sensitive wrist.
His loving words, the touch of his warm lips, both sent a thrill racing through her. “I am so fortunate in your love,” she admitted candidly, realizing how much she was coming to love this strong man. Yet she could not bring herself to say the words she knew would fill him with happiness. She was not quite ready yet to give him all of herself. Their marriage was new. It had been quick. Should she have waited?
Waited for what? she asked herself. For Lady Margaret to give him an English wife? To lose him forever, or finally relegate herself to being his mistress? She was Lucianna Pietro d’Angelo, daughter of a Venetian princess. She could not have yielded herself to him had he been wed to another. She might not have been born noble, but Lucianna knew that her manners and her morals were far superior to many who had nothing else to recommend them but their noble blood.
Suddenly she realized he was leading her from the hall. “Where . . .” she began, and then she smiled at him, nodding. They were going upstairs to their bedchamber, where they would continue this discussion of love and marriage.
“I thought we needed more privacy if I am to continue kissing you,” he said, “and kissing seems to lead to . . .”
“I know where kissing leads to,” she told him. “It is fortunate that we left Balia behind at Wye Court. Now our trysts are private.”
“Servants know everything,” the earl said as they entered their bedchamber. He turned to close the door and lock it so no one would come in upon them unintentionally.
“It is true,” she agreed, slipping into his arms again. Reaching up, she stroked his handsome face. It was rough with the new beard that had been growing for the last several days. “I do not know if I like you bearded or smooth-shaven,” she said. “Your beard scratches me.”
“Scraping my face smooth while we were traveling would have proven time-consuming,” he replied. “And at this moment I have no plans to defer my wicked intentions towards you for any purpose, madame.”
“I have not asked it of you, my lord,” Lucianna murmured.
He had been slowly pushing her across the bedchamber towards their bed as they spoke.
She felt the edge of the bed against the back of her legs, and she let him shove her gently backwards. Looking up at her husband, she held out her arms to him, smiling. Briefly he laid himself atop her and they kissed again. As they did, he rolled them onto their sides. Lucianna’s tongue entwined naughtily with his tongue, and she felt his need for her increasing with each heated, playful stroke.
They spoke not a word. His hands moved to push her skirts up. Her hands began to unfasten his shirt laces. He stroked the inside of her thigh, and she almost purred. She loved his touch. He cupped her mound and gently squeezed it. The heat and dampness from it excited his senses. So did that facile little tongue of hers, now teasing his ear.
“Volpe femina!” he growled against her lips.
“Tormentore!” she hissed back, pressing herself against him.
He loosened his breeches with a hand, releasing his hungry, swollen member. Passion had been denied as they traveled, as there had been no time to enjoy it with his bride. But now she lay eager beneath him, and they both understood there was no more time for niceties. He drove himself into her wet heat, his groan of pleasure mingling with hers. “Jesú, you feel good!” he told her.
Beneath him Lucianna laughed softly. “May I return the compliment, Husband?” she asked softly.
He began to move on her. Very slowly at first, for he did not wish to conclude this delicious interlude too quickly. But their combined lust was just too great for both of them. Wordlessly, she encouraged him to increase his thrusts. Her breath began to come in short pants. Her legs wrapped themselves about his torso, allowing him deeper access. With the strength that could only be exhibited by a man of experience, the earl was able to hold off his own pleasure until he saw his wife gaining it. With a groan he exploded, his boiling juices filling her eager and welcoming womb.
“I love you!” he told her as his heart began to slow itself back to a normal rhythm, and he kissed her gently.
“I love you too!” Lucianna heard herself admit aloud as she curled into the curve of his arm. “I should have said it before, but I could not quite voice it.”
He did not inquire as to why she struggled to speak her love of him to him, for he had always known she felt it. Lucianna was a proud woman. Better he not question her. “I am glad you love me,” was his simple response, and his arm tightened about her.
After some minutes had passed, Lucianna said, “We cannot remain here all day, my lord, and do not ask why not. You know the answer to that. Do you think Lady Margaret will tell the king you are in London?” she wondered aloud.
“I think tomorrow we must present ourselves to him. He will learn we are here sooner than later, and he will wonder why we have not come to pay our respects. I will say nothing of this plot we have discovered. I am certain his mother will speak to him of it, and if he wishes, he will question me further. I would learn more of this pretender, for if he invades the realm, then King Henry must drive him from it. I will have to join him, Lucianna.”
“Is this the English way, then?” she asked him. “My father supports the Medici family, but if they went to war, he would not join them. But then, the Medici are not the rulers of Florence. They are an important family, it is true, but we are a republic. Even when the pope threatened to excommunicate
everyone in Florence, we made our decision to ignore him as a city,” she told him.
“King Henry’s marriage to the heiress Princess Elizabeth of York, and the subsequent birth of their son, Arthur, has settled a quarrel between the Lancaster and York families that had raged for years,” the earl explained to his wife. “The country is finally settling down and cannot be roused by tricksters. This Lambert Simnel claims to be the son of the Duke of Clarence, but that lad is in the Tower. He has been ever since King Henry overcame King Richard. The Irish either will not accept that or are simply enjoying making trouble, and deluding the ignorant. I suspect the latter.”
“I have never met any Irish,” Lucianna said. “If they came to Florence, they had no need of silk.”
“Nay.” He smiled. “The Irish have no need of silks. They are great fighters, however, and enjoy nothing better than causing difficulties for England.”
“Perhaps if your kings would cease their interference in Ireland, the Irish would not be so eager to make trouble for England,” Lucianna said, and then she smiled at his surprise.
“I thought you had never met any Irish,” he said.
“I haven’t but for one. For two years we had a tutor who came from that place. He told us stories of the last king of all of Ireland, a man named Brian Boru. And there was a princess called Red Ava who wed an English lord. Our tutor’s name was Master Cormac. He went to Rome with Giorgio, our brother. He was very devout, and my parents liked him greatly. Is it not true that the English interfere in Ireland, my lord?” she asked him innocently.
He did not give her an answer, saying instead, “It would be unwise to voice such sentiments before Lady Margaret or the king.”
Lucianna smiled. “You have without saying given me an answer, my lord,” she told him.
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